The Pattern Artist Read online

  PRAISE FOR THE PATTERN ARTIST

  “The Pattern Artist is a compelling story of the human spirit’s longings and dreams, written with Nancy’s usual excellence that I’ve enjoyed in her other books. The character travels from potential to purpose as she journeys through uncertainty, courage, and faith…. Nancy never disappoints with her stories. She’s an excellent storyteller whose intriguing characters delight, teach, and entertain.”

  —Yvonne Lehman, author of 57 novels including Hearts that Survive—A Novel of the Titanic

  “The Pattern Artist kept me reading long into the night. When I should have been sleeping I couldn’t resist turning the next page to see what would happen next. This book is filled with fascinating twists that intersect with actual historical events of the time. Altogether one of the best books I’ve read this year!”

  —Hannah Alexander, author of The Healing Touch series

  “Rich in historical detail and compelling characters, Nancy Moser’s The Pattern Artist takes readers into the fascinating life of a young immigrant woman who attempts to find love as she forges a new life in the world of fashion and design. It’s a sweeping, strong story that you won’t put down until you’ve read the final page.”

  —Judith Miller, award-winning author of the Refined by Love series

  “Delightful! The Pattern Artist is a story of determination through adversity, a plucky heroine with an expert eye for New York fashion, and an inspiring message that it’s never too late to get out there and chase a dream.”

  —Kristy Cambron, award-winning author of The Illusionist’s Apprentice and the Hidden Masterpiece series

  “The romance, intrigue, and rich historical detail of The Pattern Artist create a mesmerizing novel that grabbed me from the first page and never let go. Moser’s storytelling ability is second to none, and her novels are on my must-read list. Highly recommended!”

  —Colleen Coble, author of Twilight at Blueberry Barrens and the Hope Beach series

  © 2016 by Nancy Moser.

  Print ISBN 978-1-63409-792-5

  eBook Editions:

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63409-794-9

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-63409-793-2

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design: Faceout Studio, www.faceoutstudio.com

  Published in association with the Books & Such Literary Management, Janet Kobobel Grant, 52 Mission Circle, Suite 122, PMB 170, Santa Rosa, California 95409-5370, www.booksandsuch.com

  Published by Shiloh Run Press, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  To my mother, Marge Young

  Thank you for teaching me how to sew

  and be creative.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Letter to the Reader

  Discussion Questions

  CHAPTER ONE

  1911

  New York City

  Annie Wood! I demand you wipe that ridiculous smile off your face. Immediately.”

  Annie yanked her gaze away from the view out of the carriage and pressed a hand across her mouth to erase the offending smile.

  But as soon as the attempt was made, she knew it was impossible. The grin returned, as did her gumption. She addressed her accuser sitting across from her. “But Miss Miller, how can any of you not smile? We are in New York City! We are in America!”

  The lady’s maid sighed with her entire body, the shoulders of her black coat rising and falling with the dramatic disdain she seemed to save for Annie. She granted the street a patronizing glance. “It’s a big city. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Looks like London,” said the younger lady’s maid, Miss Dougard.

  Miss Miller allowed herself two glances. “A city’s a city.”

  If Annie could have done so without consequence, she would have made them suffer her own disdain by rolling her eyes. Instead she said, “If you’ll pardon my directness, how can you be so indifferent? We’ve just crossed an ocean. We’re in a foreign land, another country.”

  “Hmm,” Miss Dougard said. “I much prefer France.”

  “Italy is the country of true enlightenment,” Miss Miller added. Show-offs. For they had traveled with the Kidds to many far-off places.

  But Annie could play this game. “I happen to prefer China.”

  She earned their attention. “When have you—?”

  “I haven’t, in body. But I have visited China in my mind. Multiple times. Multitudious times.”

  “Multitudious is not a word.”

  Annie rearranged her drawstring purse on her lap. “I am excited to be here because I’ve never traveled five miles beyond the village. Even when the Kidds travel to London for the social season I’m left behind at Crompton Hall.”

  Miss Miller smoothed a gloved hand against her skirt. “You wouldn’t be along on this trip, excepting I knew her ladyship would get seasick.”

  What?

  Miss Miller’s left eyebrow rose. “Don’t look surprised, girl. Even though you’re traveling with the two of us, you are still just a housemaid, here to do our bidding as much as the family’s.”

  Annie was tempted to let loose with an indignant “I am not ‘just’ anything.” What about all the special sewing and handwork she did for the viscountess and her daughter? She had assumed they wanted her along because of her talent.

  “Pouting does not become you,” Miss Miller said.

  Annie pulled her lower lip back where it belonged, hating that they’d witnessed her pain. Searching for a comeback, she bought time by yawning as if their assessment of her position meant little. Then she had it: “Considering her ladyship kept the contents of her stomach contained on the voyage, is it fair to assume my duties are now over? Am I free to enjoy myself at the Friesens’?”

  “Don’t be daft,” Miss Dougard said.

  “Or impertinent,” Miss Miller added. She flashed a look at Annie over her spectacles. “There will be chamber pots aplenty wherever you go, Annie Wood.”

  Annie felt her cheeks grow hot. Under housemaids had the burden of emptying chamber pots. As an upper housemaid Annie claimed cleaner duties that involved changing the linens and dusting the fine bric-a-brac that couldn’t be entrusted to lower maids.

 
; Except on the ship, when she had endured the wretched pot duty.

  She drew in a deep breath, willing her anger to dissipate. As it waned, her determination grew deeper roots. Someday she’d rise high enough in the household that the Misses wouldn’t dare make such a comment. Someday she’d be their equal.

  Until that day … Annie revived her smile and returned her attention to the city passing by. She was in America, and she was not going to let anyone dampen her pleasure. No one in her family had ever even hoped to travel so far. When she’d told her parents about her opportunity, they’d scoffed. “Who would want to go there?” She should have anticipated their reaction but refused to let their naysaying ruin the adventure. She wanted to go to America. She wanted to experience everything. If they were content to live in the cottage where Ma was born, taking in laundry or doing odd jobs to get by, let them. Annie had dreams.

  The progress of the carriage was slow amid the teeming streets. On the ship, Annie had been astounded at the number of people gathered in one place. That number was a mere handful compared to the throngs capturing the streets of New York City. Everyone was going somewhere, in the midst of amazing missions. “They’re so alive,” Annie said, mostly to herself.

  Miss Miller allowed herself a quick glance. “They look like ants rushing about, dizzy over a bread crumb. They don’t realize life is ready to squash them. Like this …” She pressed her thumb against her knee and gave it a maniacal twist.

  “Excuse me, ma’am, but if not for those busy ants, who would have built these enormous buildings? Who would grow the food that will be in abundance at dinner tonight? Who would do all the work a day requires? And if the truth be told, are we not ants, doing our work for the Kidds?”

  The wrinkles in Miss Miller’s face deepened. “I am not an ant!”

  “Nor am I.” Miss Dougard flipped a hand at the window. “If you can’t see the difference between those of us who serve with dignity and those … those …”

  “People who also work very hard?” Annie offered.

  Miss Miller hovered a finger in the air between them. “Never group the two of us with laborers who toil.”

  Two of us. Not three.

  “We do not toil,” Miss Miller said.

  “Never toil,” Miss Dougard said.

  Although Annie knew she should nod and let it go, she heard herself say, “I agree.”

  The women blinked, and Annie changed the subject before they could dissect her full meaning. “Do you think the Friesen home is much farther?”

  As those who did not toil discussed the correct answer, Annie let herself enjoy the sight of others like herself who did.

  The two carriages—the one carrying the servants and the lead one transporting Lady Newley and her daughter, Miss Henrietta—parted ways when they reached the Friesen mansion as if a line of demarcation was drawn on the cobblestones dividing “them” and “us.” The mistress waiting at the front entry for “them” was a distant cousin of Lady Newley’s husband who’d married an American. Annie wasn’t sure how Mr. Friesen had obtained his money but had overheard gossip back home that he and his wealth were uncouth and nouveau riche. Apparently new money was vulgar. Annie didn’t see it. Didn’t new money spend the same as old? From what she’d seen back home, old money had a hard time sustaining itself century after century. New was good. New was exhilarating. New was very American.

  Annie set thoughts of the family aside when the servants’ carriage stopped at the destination for “us.” They were greeted by the mansion’s staff, who offered a quick hello before everyone focused on the unloading and dispersing of the multitudious—she still enjoyed the word—Kidd family luggage. The two Misses did the pointing, and soon there were two stacks of large trunks and satchels, and one lesser one comprising the luggage of the three servants. The Friesen staff were swiftly organized and so began the hauling from the basement to the floor that held the family’s bedrooms.

  Annie waited for her traveling companions to assist with their personal luggage, but they made a quick escape into the house, chatting with the housekeeper, the butler, and various others who were their equals.

  “They abandoned you,” said a lad of twelve or thirteen who had helped with the unloading.

  “They do that. I believe I am but baggage to them.”

  He laughed. “A steamer trunk or a carpetbag?”

  “Definitely a carpetbag in hopes of becoming a grand trunk with brass fittings.”

  The boy swept a hand through a thick shock of wheat-colored hair. “I’m Danny. I’m the hall boy and do-whatever-they-don’t-want-to-do boy.”

  She admired his pluck. “I’m Annie, an upper housemaid and do-whatever-they-don’t-want-to-do girl.”

  “No one can call us lazy.”

  “But they might call us crazy.”

  He made his eyes grow too large and wiggled his hands by his face. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  She raised her right hand. “It will be our secret.”

  He nodded toward the luggage. “It’s time to do whatever they didn’t want to do. Tell me whose bag is whose.”

  Annie did so and was about to take charge of her own small satchel when Miss Miller appeared at the door leading inside. “Annie! Get in here. There’s unpacking to be done.”

  “Coming.” She gave the boy her thanks and rushed inside.

  “See you at dinner, Whatever-girl,” Danny called after her.

  How unexpected that her first friend in America was a plucky boy.

  Annie unwrapped the tissue paper that encased Miss Henrietta’s wardrobe and carefully lifted each dress out of the trunk and placed it on a hanger. Even if her ladyship took little notice, Annie recognized each costume as a vivid illustration of fashion—fashion Annie was lucky enough to touch and appreciate, alter and mend.

  But never wear.

  This limitation didn’t bother her. Everyone was born into a certain position. Even in the animal kingdom a cardinal was born to be with other cardinals and a sparrow with fellow sparrows. Both shared the same overarching category, and both were content with their situation—or if not content, accepting of it.

  As the daughter of a laundress and a ne’er-do-well who was usually half-rats with drink, Annie held no aspirations to be a countess or a queen. Being a lady’s maid to such a woman was ambition enough. Order above all was a notable and noted English tradition. Although she was intrigued by the idea of American freedom, it seemed a bit chaotic in its implementation. There was strength in knowing what was what and who was who. Or was it whom?

  Annie worked very hard to speak and think as if she were educated, even though she was mostly self-taught. Her cause was aided by being a good mimic. She paid close attention when those of higher status spoke. Listening well was her school. To graduate would allow her to move up in the world. She would be ready when the door of opportunity opened.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Miss Henrietta as she rose from her dressing table, her hair freshened to go down for tea. She was assisted by Miss Dougard, whose black dress was a jarring swath against the sage-green silk that adorned every surface of the bedroom from wall to ottoman.

  “I do hope this dress isn’t too tight,” Miss Henrietta said, using the pinched voice that signaled she was readying to hold her breath.

  Miss Dougard glanced at Annie, and they shared the knowledge that Annie had recently—and not for the first time—let out the seams of the robin-blue afternoon dress. It was well known that the Kidds’ only daughter had a tendency to overly delight in her scones and clotted cream. Annie had even overheard the Misses talking about their last trip to the fashion houses in Paris, where they’d given instructions that the seam allowances be extra generous to allow for future alterations.

  Speaking of, Annie noted that the color of the let-out area along the newest altered seam differed ever so slightly from the rest of the dress, but she doubted anyone else would notice if they weren’t spotting for it.

  With an i
ntake of breath on Miss Henrietta’s part, the dress was put on and the hooks and eyes secured. Only then did she let out the breath, hesitate a moment, and smile. “I must be losing weight.”

  Miss Dougard did not respond but secured the clasp of a moonstone choker around the young lady’s neck. The ensemble complete, Miss Henrietta headed to the door. “I wish to wear my rose chiffon for dinner. I forgot to mention before we left home, but the beading under the arms is quite abrasive.”

  “I’ll see to it, miss,” Miss Dougard said with a nod.

  Annie nodded, her eyes downcast. As soon as their mistress was gone, Miss Dougard scanned the room—which was littered with clothes. “That girl is as fickle as a bee buzzing from flower to flower.” She retrieved a mauve dress of faille silk, put it on a hanger, and handed it to Annie. “When the hooks on the wall are filled, use the few in the armoire.”

  There weren’t enough hangers. There weren’t enough hooks. It was clear six weeks’ worth of clothing that would provide Miss Henrietta at least three changes a day would fill the lush bedroom to overflowing. “I wish we had a dressing room like we have back home,” Miss Dougard said.

  “At least it isn’t winter,” Annie said.

  “Why would you wish that—other than the obvious fact that no one likes the cold?”

  “Winter clothes would be bulkier and heavier than these—and there would be more layers to let out.”

  Miss Dougard’s laugh renewed Annie’s feeling that someday, when Annie was also a lady’s maid, they might be friends.

  Their work was interrupted when Miss Miller entered. She inspected the room with a single glance then said, “Miss Dougard, come. It’s time for tea in the servants’ hall.”

  “But Miss Henrietta asked that some beads be adjusted in her evening dress and—”

  Miss Miller waved away her concern and said to Annie, “See to it, girl.”

  Annie expected as much. “I’ll get to it right after tea.”

  “You’ll get to it now. And you still have unpacking to do in this room and Lady Newley’s.”

  But she was famished. Annie hadn’t had a thing to eat since this morning on the ship.